Scars
by Amberina
Summary: Wesley and Dawn both have scars. Some disturbing content.


TITLE: Scars  
AUTHOR: Amberina  
RATING: R for language, self-mutilation and references to child abuse  
PAIRING: Dawn/Wesley friendship  
SPOILERS: S6/S3  
SUMMARY: Wesley and Dawn have scars.  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never was, never will be (probably.)  
FEEDBACK: Oh, man. Please?  
ARCHIVING: Shippers United, UCSL, Aurora, Summers Sun, Wesleyan Aria. Anyone else, please   
ask first.  
  
SCARS  
By Amberina  
  
Mental scars. They both have them. From their past, from their   
present, some even from their future.  
  
Dawn isn't real. She's a real mess, sure. But real? Nope, not Dawn.   
Reality isn't something she's very familiar with, anyway. She likes   
to close her eyes sometimes, and just imagine what it must have been   
like to be swirling energy. She pictures herself mingling with the   
stars against a backdrop of cold blackness. It chills her to the bone.  
  
She killed her sister. Love for her killed her sister. Not real love   
either, false love. Love implanted in her heart. Fake love. Not real.   
Not real. Buffy died for what? So Dawn could live? Dawn never really   
lived, just existed. Buffy came back. But she was cold, distant, and   
Dawn felt like killing her again, so she could go back to heaven and   
stop fucking Spike. Dawn wasn't worried about hell. She'd probably   
just turn back into mystical energy when she died anyway.  
  
But she didn't kill her, because when it all came down to it, Dawn   
wasn't a murderer. Not even if the world would be better, or if Buffy   
would be happier. She couldn't even bring herself to take her own   
life. Coward, she called herself, whenever she'd look in the mirror.   
Stupid, evil coward. Dawn wished she could just go away, disappear   
into oblivion. She wished these people didn't have the false love   
implanted in their hearts, so if she did go away, they wouldn't stop   
her. They wouldn't try to get her help. They didn't really care, they   
just thought they did.  
  
****  
  
Mental scars. They both have them. From their past, from their   
present, some even from their future.  
  
Wesley's a loser. He always has been. His father would tell him so,   
and Daddy knows best, right? Daddy would tell him how horrible he   
was, how bad. If he told anyone about what he did to him at night,   
they would think he was lying. No one would possibly believe Wesley,   
right? 'Not a bloody word out of Wesley's mouth is true,' his father   
used to caution family friends. 'Don't believe a thing that little   
bugger says.' Of course, when it came down to it, they believed   
Edward Wyndham-Price, head of the Watchers' Council and all-around   
model citizen. Wesley knew this from expeirince.  
  
Wesley was asking for it, after all. If he wasn't so bad, then Daddy   
wouldn't have to do that to him. That's what his father would say. If   
he didn't get smart with him, he wouldn't have to do it. If he would   
just stop watching the blasted television for long enough to do his   
homework, he wouldn't have to do it. Wesley was asking for it. If   
only he hadn't let it slip to his headmaster what his father liked to   
do, Daddy wouldn't have had lock him in the cupboard under the   
stairwell. Wesley was asking for it.  
  
Of course, his headmaster hadn't believed him anyway, and by the time   
he was thirteen, he went off to boarding school, and he only had to   
suffer for his shortcomings on holidays. Wesley dreaded the holidays.  
  
****  
  
Physical scars. They both have them. From their past, from their   
present, some even from their future.  
  
Dawn has a long scar across her back, from where Doc sliced her open.   
Sometimes she'll close her eyes and imagine herself back up there,   
imagine that the knife is there again. Sometimes, just sometimes, but   
sometimes nonetheless, she feels the cold metal of the knife scrap   
her skin, feels the cool breeze tickle the back of her neck, feels   
the warm, thick blood drip down her back.  
  
Dawn has scars all over her arms. Short ones, long ones, light scars,   
and deep ones. All are from her self-inflicted pain. Only one spot on   
her arm is clear from any scars - her wrist. She can't bring herself   
to let the knife touch that virgin skin. She's not sure why she does   
it, she just knows that afterwards, she feels better. It's her   
penance for destroying her sister's life, for destroying the lives of   
everyone around her.  
  
****  
  
Physical scars. They both have them. From their past, from their   
present, some even from their future.  
  
Wesley has a long scar across his neck, from where Justine slit his   
throat. Sometimes, usually when he has been drinking, he'll trace the   
scar lightly with his own knife. Not hard enough to break the skin,   
but oh-so lightly. It reminds him of his father. Because he had been   
right. Wesley had fucked up once again, and he always had the scars   
to remind him.  
  
He had many other scars, as well. They riddled his body. Some were   
from battle, some were from his father, some he had no idea where he   
got them. He had burns on his inner thighs. He didn't like to think   
about how he got those.  
  
****  
  
Wesley held Dawn as she cried, big sobs that shook her lithe body. He   
softly stroked her hair as she burried her head on his shoulder.  
  
"Dawn . . . " he began and let himself drift off. He wasn't quite in   
the right state of mind to try to comfort the sobbing teenager. So he   
just held her.  
  
Every once in a while, she would babble something about Tara, death,   
and loss, but he could only make out every other word.  
  
Dawn had ran away when Tara got shot, that much he knew, but he   
didn't know if anyone at all knew where she was or why in the world   
she would come to him. All he knew was she was so small and   
vulnerable in his arms, and she needed him for some reason. She   
needed him. He didn't have a clue as to why, but that didn't reallt   
matter.  
  
Soon her tears ran dry and she looked up at him with wide, bloodshot   
eyes. "What's that from?" she asked, running her finger across the   
scar on his neck. As she did so, the sleeve to her shirt came up, and   
he caught sight of her arms.  
  
"My God," he gasped, studying the scars.  
  
Dawn quickly pulled her sleeve down. "It's nothing."  
  
Wesley looked down, not sure what to say.  
  
Dawn sighed and stood up. "I'll go home tomorrow. Just please, can I   
stay tonight?"  
  
Wesley nodded his head slightly. "Are you hungry?"  
  
Dawn shook her head. She knew she should probably be hungry, as she   
hadn't ate enything since . . . well, she couldn't actually remember   
when her last meal was. "Not really. But I should probably eat."  
  
"May I ask you a question, Dawn?" Wesley asked, his eyes studying   
Dawn's. When she nodded, he continued. "Why did you come to me?"  
  
Dawn sighed. "Because I thought you would be able to understand me.   
You seem very understanding. And you were really nice to me at   
Buffy's funeral, so I figured it would be best to go to you. Are you   
going to call Buffy or Giles? Because I know they're probably   
worried. They aren't really, but they think they are."  
  
Wesley looked perplexed for a moment. "You don't think they're really   
worried?"  
  
Dawn shook her head. "No, because they only think they love me. They   
wouldn't give a damn if the stupid monks hadn't implanted love in   
their hearts. They love me only because of that."  
  
Wesley shook his head. "Dawn, you must know that is not true."  
  
"Isn't it?"  
  
"No, it's not," Wesley said, his voice on edge. "I know what it's   
like - " he caught himself and tried a new way of getting through to   
her. "Many people are truly unloved and abandoned. You are not one of   
them. Your sister loves you, everyone loves you. Tara loved you."  
  
The mention of Tara's name struck something within Dawn, Wesley could   
tell. "Tara loved me. Because of me? Not because of monks?"  
  
"Tara loved you because you are a bright and beautiful young lady."  
  
"Beautiful?" Dawn asked, cocking her eyebrow. Apparently he had made   
her feel better, at least.  
  
Wesley lowered his head, a slight smile on his face. The smile felt   
out of place, but not altogether unpleasent. "You know you are   
beautiful, not like anyone needs to tell you."  
  
"After we eat, will you take me home?" Dawn asked softly.  
  
"Of course," Wesley said without any hesitantion. "It's where you   
belong."  
  
Dawn nodded. "It is, isn't it?" On pure impulse, she hugged Wesley,   
and he was stiff for a moment, but then wrapped his arms around the   
teenager. "Thank you."  
  
"You're very welcome."  
  
On the way out of his apartment building, they ran into Lilah in the   
hall. Before she could get out the first syllable of Wesley's name,   
he brushed past her, acting like she wasn't even there.  
  
Scars. They both have them. Some from their past, some from their   
present, but maybe, just maybe, they won't have any in their future.  
  
THE END 


End file.
